


Chicken/Pasta conundrums

by R00bs_Teacup



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-05
Updated: 2015-03-05
Packaged: 2018-03-16 09:32:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3483188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/R00bs_Teacup/pseuds/R00bs_Teacup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a strange restaurant experience for Arthur and Gwen leads them to Merlin</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chicken/Pasta conundrums

Arthur isn’t sure about this place. The tables look nice and the cutlery they’ve been given is clean, and was neither left out for them to collect themselves or in a container on the table, but delivered with napkins by the waiter in the bright orange suit, after he knew what they ordered. The wine list is adequate, the lights are neither too dim nor too bright, and the noise level is perfectly alright. And yet, there’s the bright orange suits the wait-staff wear, and the fact that every single dish on the menu is called pasta. 

“Gwen,” Arthur hisses across the table, “this menu-“

Gwen holds up a hand with a stern look and silences him. 

“Give it a chance, Arthur. Remember your new year’s resolution?” 

“I used to think it was revolutions you made at new year,” Arthur says, looking miserably at the menu, “why is it all called Pasta?”

The waiter snorts a surprised laugh, appearing at Arthur’s elbow with a bottle of wine. Arthur gives him a glare. 

“Good evening, I’m Merlin, your waiter for the night. I apologise for the pasta theme, it is April the first, however, and the owner of this fine establishment has a sense of humour,” the waiter says, pouring Arthur a taste of the wine. 

Arthur pretends he knows what he’s checking for when sipping from his glass. It tastes okay, so he gestures for it to be left, then looks back at the Menu. He’d forgotten the date. 

“I’ll have Pasta number four,” he says, folding the menu and handing it over, “is the suit part of the date?”

The waiter glares, takes the menu from him and looks at Gwen questioningly and politely, without answering Arthur’s question. Though, from the attitude he’s getting, Arthur guesses the answer is ‘no, and you are a rude person’. 

“I’ll have pasta number five. I think this is great fun, and the suits fit really nicely with the décor, especially the bar.”

“Thank you, that’s very nice of you to say,” the waiter says, giving Gwen a small bow and heading off. 

Arthur shrugs at Gwen. 

“Sorry,” he says. 

Gwen just grins widely and leans over to take his hand, giving it a pat. 

“That’s okay,” she says, far too cheerfully, “I already knew you were challenged in certain areas. All is forgiven. Besides, they are quite awful. I have no idea what is going on with that.”

Arthur beams at her, suddenly feeling glad he decided to take her out tonight. Or, rather, let her take him out. Her gives her hand a squeeze and pours her some wine. 

“Thanks for letting me be manly,” he says, “is this okay?”

Gwen sips her wine, hums, holds it up to the light, then nods. 

“It’ll go nicely with my dish, though it might be a little sweet to really compliment yours. Good choice, all in all.”

Arthur beams at her again, proud that she knows so many things he cannot begin to care about. He decides to make this one of their regular ‘date places’. 

They start going once in a while, but it soon becomes a regular place to eat. Partly because the food is very good, partly because the hygiene standards meet Arthur’s approval, partly because Gwen finds the orange suits really fun. And partly because Merlin always waits on them and is absolutely hysterically funny. And because he gives Arthur grief, but in such a playful way that Arthur can only grumble back and can’t help smiling. 

Sometimes, when they’ve finished their meal and have ended up there late, so it’s closing by the time they’re even close to being ready to go, Merlin will sit with them. At first it’s only when they invite him, but soon it becomes a thing. He’ll close up, get them coffee and then collapse into a chair and moan about his sore feet and make Gwen blush with compliments and Arthur pink with irritation and laughter. 

In return, Arthur leaves ridiculous tips. Until, that is, Merlin gets frustrated at Arthur for ‘taking him for someone who’d accept payment for company’. After which Arthur gets very very pink and very very quiet and carefully hides the fifty back in his wallet. Merlin gives him an extra mint and pats his arm in forgiveness, though, so the blush recedes and Arthur’s able to form coherent sentences the next time they meet. 

Arthur doesn’t realise quiet how much he’s come to rely on the experience of Merlin-the-waiter until six months have passed. He takes Gwen to their now favourite restaurant to celebrate her promotion and gloats a bit to everyone and anyone about how rich and important they are, until Gwen steps carefully and pointedly on his foot. Then he sits quietly and well behaved and waits for their carafe of water to arrive. 

Instead of the expected water, Merlin comes bursting out of the kitchen, grinning widely, two trays held above his head, the usual orange suit flapping about him. He comes trundling over to them and announcing, loud and proud, ‘PASTA!’. Arthur hides his face behind his hand, despairing of ever meeting any people who could be reasonably considered as ‘normal’. 

“Merlin!” Gwen says, “I take it you heard my news? And have invited yourself to join us?”

“Yes,” Merlin says, setting both trays on the table (saving Arthur’s nerves a little anxiety- he’s seen Merlin drop a tray piled high with used glasses), and drags over a third chair, “seeing as you’re pretty late this evening and your prat has spent such a long time at the bar drinking whiskey and boasting, we’re almost at closing. If we drink for five minutes, we can eat the chicken with our fingers without shame.”

They sit politely, talking quietly, anticipation rising along with their stifled laughter. Merlin closes up three minutes early when the restaurant empties and rushes back over, tearing off a leg of chicken and sinking his teeth into it, juice getting all over his front. Arthur tears off the second leg and hands it graciously to Gwen, who refuses it and takes breast instead. 

“So,” Arthur says, turning to Merlin, “I have just realised, we are also celebrating six months of eating at this batty place.”

“And six months of my delectable company,” Merlin says, dimpling at him. 

“Indeed,” Arthur says, distracted by the chicken grease on Merlin’s cheek. 

He kind of wants to lick it off. He turns to Gwen, making his eyes big, and begs. 

“May I?” he asks, pleading his cause. 

“The dimples?” Gwen asks, shaking her head, “alright. If you really must.”

Arthur leans over and licks Merlin’s cheek and then across his lips, then sits back and eats his own chicken while Gwen does some talking. She’s so far ahead of him in terms of skill at words it’s ridiculous. He gets rather distracted by the chicken and is taken by surprise when Merlin stands, bends over and gives him a small kiss. 

“I’m coming home with you,” Merlin says, “but not until you take me to a proper dinner.”

“We’re going to take him to La Breton Lai,” Gwen says, smugly. 

Arthur nods and gets on with his chicken.


End file.
